


When Life Gives You a Sequel with a Higher Rating Make Sure You Don’t Screw It Up

by Apathy, saltedpin



Series: No One Looks At Series Titles So Call Them Whatever You Like [2]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comedy, Edging (intentional and unintentional), First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Frustration, look there's a lot going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-01 22:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/pseuds/Apathy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltedpin/pseuds/saltedpin
Summary: This is Hijikata’s life now. He made this choice in the full knowledge of who he’d be getting in bed with, and how absolutely disgusting and bewildering and infuriating he is. This is, apparently, what he wants.Local idiots attempt sex.(sequel toWhen Life Gives You Lemons Make Sure to Save Them to Your Hard Drive)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [When Life Gives You Lemons Make Sure to Save Them to Your Hard Drive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17640257/chapters/41596253), though it probably stands alone okay. Nonetheless, there's a few references to things that happened in that fic and it picks up directly after that one finishes, so having read that one will probably make for an easier time with this one :) 
> 
> With a huge thank you to rabbit_habits for the beta! All mistakes are our own.
> 
>  **Edit:** deargodwhatisthatthing has drawn an absolutely beautiful companion piece to this fic, which you really ought to go look at right now!: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265917> Thank you so much for such a wonderful gift, we both appreciate it so much <3

Up until now, Hijikata’s never really had reason to contemplate the complexities of two people a) trying to remove their clothes, while b) being attached at the lips like a couple of drunken limpets and also c) trying to cop a feel. Having now experienced it, he’s not sure he’d recommend it, to be honest... and yet, he can’t seem to free his hands long enough to untie his obi like a normal human being. It’s just that his hands _really_ want to be yanking off Yorozuya’s stupid yukata right now, and his mouth just can’t seem to detach itself from that idiot’s lips, except to move along that idiot’s neck, which isn’t really helping matters.

He’s still doing better than Gintoki, though, who’s attempting the same unholy trinity of making out, ass-groping, and clothing removal, except that he’s trying to take off boots instead of sandals, so there’s also a lot of hopping about on one foot going on. It’s a terrible combination that’s doomed to fail, and so it’s with a complete lack of surprise that Hijikata finds his back slamming into the doorframe, before the two of them topple their inevitable way to the cold tiled floor below.

This kind of thing looks romantic in movies, but it’s shitty in real life, even if you’re used to getting knocked about much worse. Yorozuya’s landed on top of him, which would be fine, except that _he’s_ landed on top of one of his own frigging sandals. There’s nothing romantic about having your own shoe digging into your spine while some jackass stares smoulderingly into your eyes from about two inches away, dammit!

The bastard is damn lucky that Hijikata’s in possession of more horniness than sense right now – hell, he’d be happy to do it right here in the doorway, although he’d really prefer it if they at least closed the door first. The trip back to Gintoki’s was the longest walk of his life, and he’s including the entire hike to Edo from Bushuu in that. He’s not sure how much longer he can wait, and it’s been a long time – a long, long time – since he last did this. 

There’d been exactly one time when they were still new in Edo – he doesn’t remember exactly when it was except that it must have been very early days, since he hadn’t cut his hair short yet. Matsudaira had taken them out to Yoshiwara to celebrate something or other, and Hijikata had thought he may as well get it out of the way; but in the end, he’d barely noticed anything that was happening because he’d been too busy miserably thinking about Mitsuba, and he was pretty sure the woman must have been thoroughly disappointed, too. But she’d still gotten paid, so it hadn’t been a total washout, he guesses. 

Since then... yeah, there’s been nothing. He’s contented himself with the explanation that keeping the Shinsengumi’s collective head above water is a full-time job – which isn’t a lie – and that he’s just not that interested in seeing anyone. Which is also not a lie. Mostly.

This thing with Yorozuya had seemed like a good idea back at the izakaya. Or at least, it had seemed like the only solution available to him if he ever wanted to sleep again, or spend _some_ of his time _not_ alternating between jerking off while thinking about the way Gintoki’s palm had felt against his mouth or the squeeze of his thighs around his hips, and remembering the way he’d called him a sour-faced prude and wondering if that was _really_ what he thought of him. 

He manages to hook a toe into the door and slide it shut – it smacks into Gintoki’s leg once or twice before the idiot gets the message and moves – but at least the door is finally closed, and now they can get back to doing what they were doing. He grabs Gintoki’s head with one hand and his ass with the other and pulls him down again; their mouths clash harder than expected, their teeth clacking against each other, but then he decides to just roll with it, biting down on Gintoki’s lip even as he wraps one of his legs around his hip, trying to pull him closer.

Mouth-touching with that idiot – fine, he can call it _kissing Gintoki,_ even if only within the privacy of his own head – is better than it has any right to be, and he thinks that maybe they should get a move on and get to the main event before this whole thing ends embarrassingly quickly on his part. 

His fingers scrabble at Gintoki’s clothes, trying to get them off, but clearly he’s going to have to remove those ridiculous belts before he can reach his objective, and there’s no way he can manage that when the stupid asshole is lying right on top of him. He squirms about, trying to get a hand free... and okay, _maybe_ he manages to punch Yorozuya in the gut just a little in the process, but whatever, he can take it.

He’s so close to getting one of the buckles undone – _so fucking close_ – but apparently that’s Yorozuya’s cue to grab his wrist and pin it to the floor next to his head, and fuck, he’s got some serious déjà vu going here. His dignity demands that he fight back – it’s not like he’s trapped so badly that he couldn’t get free if he really wanted to – but his dick is telling him to stay right where he is, and he’s inclined to listen. Sure, he gives a bit of a token struggle for the sake of appearances – and Gintoki certainly seems to enjoy it, if the sound he makes at the back of his throat is anything to go by – but there’s no real effort in it. If he stays here and lets Gintoki think that he can have things his way, maybe he’ll finally take his goddamn pants off.

Gintoki’s weight presses down along the length of Hijikata’s body, heavy and firm, and he trails kisses along Hijikata’s jaw. Hijikata closes his eyes and lets out a sigh as Gintoki slowly, teasingly grinds against him – fucking _finally –_ and Gintoki’s warm breath ghosts along his ear – 

“Hold that thought – gotta piss. Be right back.”

The weight lifts; Hijikata’s eyes snap open in time to see Yorozuya’s yukata disappearing into the apartment.

_He did not just – no fucking way –_

Except he _did_ just, and Hijikata isn’t even surprised. Yorozuya is a shithead. It’s hardwired into his very existence. He would absolutely give himself blue balls just to fuck with Hijikata’s head.

On the upside, at least now he can finally get that frigging sandal out from where it’s been wedged into his spine this whole time. He raises himself up onto his elbows and yanks the offending piece of footwear from beneath him, hurling it through the doorway Yorozuya just vanished through.

“Fuck you, asshole!” he bellows; there’s a satisfying clatter and subsequent yelp from the next room as the sandal makes its presence known to the cockblocking shithead within.

“Well, make yourself at fucking home then,” Gintoki barks back at him, before the toilet door slams shut. 

For a long moment, Hijikata just lies there, trying to breathe deeply and convince himself _not_ to go storming off through the front door out of a sheer spiteful desire to show Yorozuya that any cockblocking he can do, Hijikata can do better. For a moment or two, he actually thinks he’s going to do it – but then, to his own intense ambivalence, he peels himself up off the floor and makes his way deeper into Yorozuya’s foyer, and tries not to think too deeply about how he got himself to this point. 

This is his life now. He made this choice in the full knowledge of who he’d be getting in bed with, and how absolutely disgusting and bewildering and infuriating he is. This is, apparently, what he wants. 

Before he can get too far into the apartment, he hears the toilet flush and the door slams open again, and then Gintoki sticks his head out through the doorway. “So, your shoe flew into the toilet when you threw it at me, which I can’t help but feel might be a lesson for you,” he says. “If you want it back, you’re going to have to go in there and get it yourself.”

Hijikata finds himself storming into the toilet before his brain can catch up with what his legs are doing; he barely remembers to put on the slippers before he steps on Yorozuya’s toilet floor, which would pretty much be a death sentence.

_Did he dump my sandal in the toilet to keep me from leaving? Does he expect me to stay here forever and be his sex slave? Does he really think I wouldn’t leave his apartment with only one shoe?!_

... Okay, he probably wouldn’t. But he _would_ call Kondou and ask him to bring him another pair of shoes, dignity be damned, and _then_ he would leave. Unless Yorozuya also misappropriated his mobile phone and dumped it in the toilet too? He wouldn’t put it past him, and – no, his phone’s still in his pocket, thank fuck.

He should probably actually _check_ the toilet, and... his sandal’s not in there. He looks frantically around the room – it has to be here _somewhere_ – and okay, it’s over in the corner.

Crouching down, he scrutinises it intensely. It doesn’t _look_ wet. He’s tempted to wad up some toilet paper and poke at it a bit, but in the end, that probably won’t achieve anything; best to just leave it where it is and then disinfect the whole damn thing later. It’s enough to know that it’s here – and _probably_ not covered in piss – if he needs to make a quick getaway.

“So.”

Hijikata jumps a little at the sound of Yorozuya’s voice behind him; he turns his head to see Gintoki lounging in the doorway in a pose he probably thinks is sexy, one forearm propped against the doorframe while the other sits lazily against his hip.

The ridiculous pose is running a distant second in Hijikata’s mind, however, because Yorozuya has _also_ removed his yukata. While this brings some relief – he’s really fucking glad that he’s not going to have to deal with those stupid belts – there’s also some incredulity in there, because Yorozuya has apparently decided that it’s a fantastic idea to unzip his shirt practically to his goddamn navel. The damn thing is just about falling off one shoulder, and okay, there’s no way that this can be accidental. He looks like a cheesecake centrefold from one of the magazines Hijikata’s always having to confiscate from his men when they’re supposed to be doing their paperwork.

Hijikata stares at the display before him. It’s ridiculous, it’s damn near indecent, and it’s doing things to Hijikata’s nether regions that he really, _really_ wishes it wasn’t.

“Yeah, sorry, that wasn’t actually true about your shoe. I thought a short, sharp shock might be the best way to cure you of your bad shoe-throwing habits. Is there any way I can make it up to you, Mr Vice-Chief?”

He doesn’t need to look up at Yorozuya’s face, because he _knows_ the smug, self-satisfied expression he’ll see there, and no one needs to see that shit. Still, he has to say _something,_ so he tears his gaze away from the stupid bare chest before him, standing up and looking Yorozuya in the eye. Because honestly, is this _really_ what passes for dirty talk in Yorozuya’s book?

“Are you actually trying to seduce me by, what, lying about throwing my shoe in a toilet?” 

“Who’s trying? It’s working, isn’t it?” 

Hijikata wants to deny it – he would really, really love to be able to deny it – but Gintoki is apparently taking the choice out of his hands, because he’s slipped one arm around Hijikata’s waist and the other behind his shoulder, drawing him inexorably forward. Hijikata takes a moment to extricate himself from both the toilet slippers and the general vicinity of the toilet itself – no way is he getting it on in a room that has seen what this room has seen – but then his mind is otherwise occupied with Gintoki’s lips on his, the warmth of his chest pressing against him, and the solidity of the wall against his back. He can’t stop the groan that leaves his mouth when Gintoki none-too-gently bites down on his lower lip any more than he can stop the shudder that runs through him when Gintoki’s hand slips inside his half-open yukata, his fingers sliding over his side and settling in the curve of his spine. 

It takes Hijikata a long moment to remember he has hands of his own, but when he does he reaches down to grab Gintoki’s ass, marvelling at the fact that he can actually do this, that he can just _touch Gintoki’s ass_ without asking, and Gintoki’s apparently fine with it – more than fine with it, if the shudder of his breath is any indication. How is it that he can suddenly just do this? How long has he been _wanting_ to do this, if only on some subconscious level that he couldn’t admit to himself? How does Gintoki have such a great ass, given that he apparently lives on nothing but sake, senbei and sugar?

He doesn’t really have much time to contemplate that mystery, however, because Gintoki is nudging his legs apart with his knee and kissing his way down his neck, his left hand coming to rest low on Hijikata’s hip.

“Leave a mark and I’ll fucking kill you,” Hijikata forces himself to snarl when Gintoki’s teeth graze just a little _too_ hard against the pulse in his throat, though he can hardly hear the sound of his own voice over the dull roar of his blood in his ears. 

Gintoki just laughs low in his throat, and _God,_ why the fuck does that send a pulse of heat straight to his dick? “Fine, fine. Nothing to remember me by, then. Got it.” 

The words _I mean it, Yorozuya, some of us have jobs to go to_ are on the tip of Hijikata’s tongue. But they never actually make it out of his mouth, since at that moment Gintoki lifts his head, raising his hand to his mouth to lick his palm – which _really_ should not be sexy – before skating his fingers down over Hijikata’s stomach and slipping them beneath the waistband of his boxers. The back of Hijikata’s head bangs against the wall, his back arching, as Gintoki’s hand closes around him.

“Fucking – _fuck_ –”

He bites down on his lower lip, swallowing down whatever other completely embarrassing noises he might make before he can make them. This is basically what he spent the last two weeks doing to himself, so he doesn't understand how this can be _so much_ better when it’s Gintoki doing it, even though Gintoki’s not really even doing anything yet – which is probably just as well, otherwise this is going to be over with in humiliatingly short order. Gintoki’s hand traces over him lightly, the callouses on his fingertips catching against his skin, and Hijikata can’t hold back the low, strangled sound that rises in the back of his throat. His eyes are closed, but he can feel the warmth of Gintoki’s breath against his ear, smell the faint hint of sweat drying on his skin, and hear it when he swallows heavily and runs his tongue quickly over his lips, almost as if he’s nervous. 

“Gintoki.” He doesn’t really _mean_ to say it, and definitely not like that, with his breath hitching desperately on the _ki_. Hijikata swallows, wondering what exactly Yorozuya’s waiting for, when _finally_ he makes a move, sliding the tight ring of his fingers over his dick, before leaning forward and pressing his lips against his jaw. 

Gintoki’s hand is more confident now, his strokes firmer, and Hijikata tries and fails to bite back a moan as Yorozuya does something _amazing_ with his other hand. Although Hijikata doesn’t want to give this dickhead the slightest bit more credit than he deserves, he has to admit that it’s impressive – it’s almost as if his fingers are vibrating against Hijikata’s hip, and –

It takes a good few seconds for the sound of the PreCure theme song to cut through the fog of his consciousness, and another second for him to put two and two together.

Oh, shit – his phone.

His _phone._ He scrabbles for it in his pocket, even as he continues to squirm desperately under the movement of Yorozuya’s hand. He can’t not check who’s calling. Edo could be under attack right now – and it probably is, he probably summoned some sort of conquest-bent asshole just by daring to be happy for five seconds – and he can’t just stand here and get a handjob while the world burns around him... no matter how good the handjob is. And it _is_ a good handjob – even though he’s no longer getting turned on by his damn phone’s vibrations, he’s still about to come, and, just, fuck his life. Why _now?!_

He flips the phone open, pulling his face away from Gintoki’s long enough to peer at the display.

It’s Kondou.

 _Fuck_.

He’s not going to take the call. He’s _not_ going to take the call. Is he going to take the call? Is he, in fact, going to take the call? Yeah, of course he’s going to take the call – he could be dead and on his way to the crematorium, and he’d still kick the lid off his own coffin to take a call from Kondou.

“Yorozuya, can you just – I have to – just _stop_ for a second –”

He contorts himself in an attempt to get the phone near his ear – one of Gintoki’s arms is in the way, but he manages somehow. Yorozuya glances up, making a slightly baffled _huh?_ sound – but then he bellows “Are you fucking kidding me?!” in the moment before Hijikata answers the call, letting his head fall onto Hijikata’s shoulder with a sigh that is _way_ too fucking melodramatic, even for this admittedly shitty situation.

“Shut up,” Hijikata hisses at him, before finally managing to sort his hand-eye co-ordination for long enough to press _Answer_. “Ah – Kondou-san? What’s going on? Has something –”

“Toshi!” Kondou’s voice practically explodes from the phone’s speaker, and Hijikata is suddenly grateful that his current position is keeping the phone a few inches away from his ear. “How are you?!”

Kondou sounds _way_ too happy for it to be something life-threatening, although that doesn’t always necessarily mean anything. Some of Kondou’s happiest moments have been when his life’s been in the greatest danger – usually when that Shinpachi kid’s older sister has been crushing his windpipe beneath her sandal. Still, it doesn’t sound like Kondou is asking him to go save Edo right this second, and he suppresses a sigh. Why is it that his commander was nowhere to be found when he actually needed to be rescued from Gintoki’s boner and his wandering hands, but now that he actually _wants_ Gintoki’s – ugh, fuck – _boner,_ Kondou is apparently just calling him up for a friendly chat?!

“I’m, uh, good.” He doesn’t _quite_ manage to hide the noise he makes when Yorozuya spitefully squeezes his dick; luckily, Kondou doesn’t seem to notice, but instead just barrels on to talk about something or other that doesn’t sound particularly urgent – something about an interview with Tamo-san and how excited Kondou is about it and did Toshi see it?

 _Oh God, it’s the KonIsaoing thing again._ Is there anyone left in the Shinsengumi who still does any actual police work?

Kondou natters away cheerfully, apparently happy to keep himself entertained. Yorozuya, on the other hand, mutters obscenities while groping Hijikata’s dick with what is definitely malice, and Hijikata hurriedly mutes his phone.

“Oh my fucking God, you asshole, don’t – _shit_ – what the hell is wrong with you?!”

“What’s wrong with _me?_ What the hell is wrong with _you?_ I’m standing here with my tits out, giving you the best handjob you’ve ever had in your life – hell, probably the _only_ handjob you’ve ever had in your life – and you’re talking about bullshit with your boss! Who the hell answers the phone when they’re getting jerked off?!” 

Yorozuya’s eyes are the eyes of a man on the edge, and Hijikata gets it, he really does, but shit, can the guy not see beyond his own perverted desires for five seconds? And what the hell was that handjob crack about? He wants to defend his honour, but he has to stick to the subject at hand – because if he won’t, who the hell will?

“Someone who has responsibilities, you bastard!”

“Oh, so the world falls to pieces if Hijikata Toushirou takes five minutes out of his busy mayonnaise-cramming schedule to get off?” Yorozuya’s hand tightens, and he does _something_ with his thumb, and Hijikata is suddenly _incredibly_ grateful that he’s still got the phone on mute.

“You bet it does!” he says, once he’s collected himself. “Crime doesn’t take a day off! This is an important call!” 

For a moment, there’s no sound but their rapid breathing; he’s about to shove Yorozuya off him, when Kondou’s voice breaks the silence.

“So the whole thing is that you should only surround yourself with things that spark joy in your life. And then I realised that while I’m grateful for the service that my pants have provided me over the years, they just weren’t sparking joy within my heart, Toshi.”

Gintoki is staring at Hijikata in a way that is incredibly pissed off... but yeah, it’s definitely also smug as fuck, and Hijikata really just wants to bury his fist in that stupid face. So maybe Gintoki is right that this is a call he didn’t _necessarily_ have to take. But how would he know without answering it?! Does that idiot not understand that Hijikata can’t just magically telepathically relay information from his phone directly into his brain?! And how the hell does he explain to Yorozuya that when it’s Kondou, it’s _always_ important?

There’s a silence hanging in the air that he knows he needs to break; Yorozuya stares at him as he unmutes his phone and clears his throat. The bastard doesn’t even grope him again – instead he just slowly pulls back, removing his hand from his underwear. It’s a relief in some ways – Hijikata really doesn’t need to spend any more time talking to Kondou while his dick is in Yorozuya’s hand – but it doesn’t stop an intense feeling of deep regret from welling up inside him either. 

“Uh, sorry, Kondou-san – I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Hi, gorilla,” Yorozuya calls lazily as he saunters off towards what Hijikata is pretty sure is the kitchen.

“Oh, is that Yorozuya?” Kondou’s voice goes up a few decibels. “Did he see my interview? What did he think?! Say hi for me, Toshi!”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Hijikata pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his sigh inaudible. He can’t even be bothered to _attempt_ to deny he’s with Gintoki. This is not really the ideal setting for a conversation with Kondou – or anyone else, for that matter – but he’s not sure what else he can do at this point. Kondou will probably talk himself to some kind of conclusion sooner or later, so Hijikata will just have to settle for making the occasional noncommittal noise of mindless agreement and hope that he can sort things out with Yorozuya after that. He’s pissed off and horny and frustrated, and he’s not sure whether it would be better for the two of them to fight things out or fuck them out. It still seems weird that the second option is even available to him – well, he _hopes_ it’s still available to him, anyway. 

Kondou eventually starts to wind down, having apparently gotten whatever the hell it was out of his system, and Hijikata sags a little in relief. If he never hears about KonIsaoing or sparking joy again, it’ll be too soon. The only good thing about having been stuck at the beach for two weeks is that he wasn’t home for Matsudaira’s presumed one a.m. visit to say Kuriko’s gotten in on the new craze, and that he’d better go make Kondou re-clutter his junk immediately or face the consequences.

“Oh! That’s actually why I was calling you!”

Hijikata blinks. There was a reason?

“I’m at an after-party with Tamo-san, see, and I thought, what could possibly make things even more fun?”

_... Oh. Oh, hell no._

“Whaddya say, Toshi? You, me, Tamo-san, Pops Matsudaira, and all the cabaret girls you could ever want –”

“Huh? Pops is there?” Wait – what – no, he just doesn’t want to know.

“Well, not _all_ the cabaret girls you could want, because _she_ isn’t... well, there’s all kinds of girls here!” Kondou’s laugh is a little strained, and Hijikata almost feels more sympathetic than usual, because he can relate to wanting someone and not being able to have them. But it’s a big _almost,_ because Hijikata _could_ actually finally get naked with the person who’s been haunting his dreams and bang his brains out, if only Kondou would _get off the goddamn fucking phone_. It’s getting to the point where the battery will probably run out soon... but he’s pretty sure that not even a flat battery would be able to prove his salvation, since having the phone call suddenly cut out would just spur Kondou to hurry over to Yorozuya’s house to check that everything’s okay. A shiver runs down his spine; his hand straightens out his yukata without his mind consciously commanding it, pulling it back across his horribly exposed chest.

“It’s fine, Kondou-san. I’m good. Really.” The Shinsengumi health plan _does_ include dental, which is excellent, because he’s about to grind his teeth down to nothing. “You go enjoy your party... thing.”

“Are you sure? What about Yorozuya? There’s free breadsticks here and everything!” The volume of Kondou’s voice rises again, and if Hijikata didn’t know better, he’d think that he sounded almost desperate. “Hey! Yorozuya! Come and join us!”

“He’s not here, Kondou-san. He went off somewhere.” _And took my one chance at sexual gratification with him. Fuck._

“Oh, I see.” Kondou sounds more forlorn than a man with unlimited access to free breadsticks has any right to sound, and just for a moment, Hijikata _does_ feel the tiniest bit bad. If he were doing literally anything else, _with_ literally anyone else, he’d be hurrying over to whatever godawful hostess club Kondou’s at to console him... but he knows Kondou’s irrepressible spirit will be fine in the morning, and so he’ll just have to wait. Hijikata’ll make it up to him, he swears it. He’ll go with him to Snack Smile every day for a week, and he won’t even complain. Much. 

There’s a crashing sound from the kitchen. Hijikata leans over, trying discreetly to make out just what the hell is going on in there.

“I have to go, Kondou-san,” he says, as the sound of a cupboard being slammed shut reverberates through the apartment. “Something’s, uh, come up.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Kondou says, and Hijikata can virtually _see_ him nodding enthusiastically. “I understand completely! I didn’t mean to interrupt. How thoughtless of me! Go follow your heart, Toshi! You can do it!”

And with that, Kondou hangs up. 

Hijikata stares down at the phone for a long moment, not even sure he _wants_ to know what to make of that. Just what the hell does Kondou think he’s doing right now?!

It’s a very strange feeling when Hijikata realises that the answer to that question is, _exactly what he is in fact doing right now._

He scrubs a hand tiredly over his face. Did Kondou finally work out what the entire population of Edo has known for weeks? Or did he somehow know before everyone else and just never mention it, because it was so obvious to him that he thought everyone else already knew?

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Assuming that Kondou _hasn’t_ in fact gone wildly off course in his reading of the situation, then it means that Hijikata doesn’t have to actually tell him about... _this_. Ever. There will be no talk of his sex life or _feelings_ or anything else even potentially tangentially related to Yorozuya, and all of his life as it relates to the Shinsengumi can continue on exactly as it did before.

There’s the makings of a new article for the Shinsengumi Code in all of this ‘do not speak of Yorozuya’ business; hell, there are probably at least eight new articles he could come up with in response to the events of the past few weeks. He’ll get it sorted first thing in the morning. He’s starting to feel a bit better already – coming up with new rules usually has that effect – and so he feels slightly more optimistic as he follows the sound of crashing and thumping until he finds himself, unsurprisingly, at the kitchen.

He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, and watches as the object of his extremely misguided affections makes a complete dick of himself. Yorozuya is opening and closing cupboards with way more drama than is warranted, peering into each one with exaggerated curiosity before slamming the door closed again. It’s obvious that he’s not actually _looking_ for anything, because he’s already looked in one particular cupboard three times since Hijikata started watching him.

He clears his throat loudly enough to make himself known. Not that he’s in any doubt that Yorozuya already knew he was there, but, well, apparently they all have their part to play in this little charade. Whatever the hell it is.

Gintoki whirls around in a ridiculous caricature of surprise, raising a hand to his half-open mouth. “Oh, welcome back,” he says, slamming a cupboard door closed, only to have it bounce back open and almost hit him in the face. “Have a nice chat with the gorilla?”

“It was fine,” Hijikata mutters. How else is he supposed to answer that question?

“Good for you. Glad to hear it.” Gintoki is now staring into the abyss of his fridge; it looks like it contains a couple of eggs and a few inferior, non-mayonnaise condiments, but precious little else. “I’m going to be a good host and whip up something to eat, since apparently you’re over here on work business, and all that serious Shinsengumi talk must’ve left you famished. What can I get for you?”

Oh shit, he’s even more pissed off than Hijikata had realised. Bitchy Yorozuya he can deal with; _politely_ bitchy Yorozuya is a whole new ball game, and he’s not sure how to make things right.

What the hell can he say? But Yorozuya’s staring at him with a weirdly blank kind of expectancy now, and he has to say _something_.

“No, I’m good. Uh... thanks, though.”

Yorozuya’s still just _staring_ at him, and he shifts his weight awkwardly. “I’ll just... I’ll leave you to it.”

He beats a hasty retreat from the kitchen, making his way to the relative safety of the living room/office/whatever the hell this room is in order to take a moment to regroup.

Okay, Yorozuya is angry about the phone call. And yeah, given the fact that he apparently prioritised a phone call about breadsticks above receiving a handjob, Gintoki might have a reason to feel just a _little_ put out. All right, Hijikata gets that. It’s not like it was his first choice of things to happen while Gintoki was – _finally!_ – jerking him off, either... but even so, he’s going to pick up every time Kondou calls, because he’ll be damned if he’s going to risk dropping the ball on his responsibilities just because Kondou _might_ be calling him up to ask him for dating advice, or to tell him about some infomercial he just saw. Can’t Yorozuya understand that?! 

_Ugh._

He’s going to have to make this right, pride be damned. Part of him thinks he should storm back into the kitchen, push Gintoki against the fridge and shove his tongue down his throat and his hand down his pants; the other, saner part of him is urging caution. Hijikata can hear Yorozuya’s bitchy mutterings drifting out from the kitchen – something about the rice cooker, and the kitchen bench always being covered in dishes when he needs to use it – and wonders if it’d be better to let Yorozuya emerge in his own time. Especially since – despite all logic – he still somehow has a raging hard-on. Given the slightest opportunity, he’s likely to work himself up into a state of what an uncharitable person might describe as a completely embarrassed panic, and then who knows what bullshit might come out of his mouth?

Shit, he’s going to strangle Kondou the next time he sees him. Everything had been going so well! Why – _fuck_.

He takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly, trying and failing to release the tension from his shoulders, and attempts to distract himself by wandering about the room.

It’s weird, how unfamiliar a lot of this feels, given how much time he’s spent in Yorozuya’s presence over the years. He’s visited this place several times, but never for long; now that he thinks about it, he’s not even sure why he’d felt compelled to drop by on most of those occasions. Usually he just barges in with the Shinsengumi in tow, argues about something semi-embarrassing while Yorozuya stares at him with a creepy unblinkingness, and then leaves again.

This time, though, there’s no one else around to distract him, and he has to admit to some interest in seeing what Yorozuya’s home is actually like. There’s not really a lot here to look at, though the apartment is much cleaner than anywhere Gintoki lives has any right to be... although he’s certain that that’s entirely down to the influence of that Shinpachi kid. 

“I’ve got flour,” Gintoki suddenly calls out in a sing-song tone that seems crafted specifically to scrape along Hijikata’s every last nerve. “Would you like some, Hijikata-kun? Pretty sure it doesn’t have any weevils in it.”

“I’m good, thanks,” he calls back, barely biting back a more snappish response.

Does Gintoki really think he came here to eat his flour? Is he going to try to impress him by baking him something, when all he wants to do is stick his painfully neglected dick somewhere that feels good? How long is he going to keep up this stupid charade?!

... Well, Hijikata knows the answers to all of those questions: _1) Of course not, you fucking idiot; 2) See answer number 1; and 3) Forever, probably._

He needs to distract himself until he can calm down and think straight. Maybe he’ll be able to find a solution that doesn’t entirely suck if he can just take his mind off dicks for a while – his own insubordinate dick, the giant ambulant dick that’s apparently snacking on flour in the kitchen, whatever.

In the end, the only logical thing for him to do is to go inspect Yorozuya’s bedroom. Entering someone’s bedroom doesn’t count as snooping if you’ve been invited over to their house for sex, even if the sex part of the offer is then apparently rescinded. That’s how it works! Anyway, it’ll be a cold day in hell before the Vice-Commander of the Shinsengumi needs an excuse to go poke around in a known terrorist’s home. Former terrorist. Whatever.

Not feeling in the slightest bit guilty – definitely not – he sidles into the room through the slightly open shouji, footsteps light. Enough moonlight is coming in through the window for him to be able to make most things out without turning the lights on, although there isn’t much to see: a pile of JUMPs in the corner, random odds and ends, strewn-about food wrappers and milk cartons. He guesses that Yorozuya’s crap is at least somewhat off-limits to Shinpachi when it’s in his own room... or maybe the kid just refuses to enter. He can’t say he’d blame him.

There’s a small shelf by the wall that seems to be relatively clutter-free, and on closer inspection, Hijikata sees it plays host to exactly one thing: a limited edition Ketsuno Ana Series 345k figurine. She’s smiling serenely, weather pointer in hand – and it reminds him of the Tomoe 5000 he has tucked away in his yukata.

_Oh – shit –_

Hijikata’s hand dives into his pocket, searching her out and inspecting her – miraculously, she seems totally undamaged. He stares down at her where she sits in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t meant to take so long to snatch her out of Gintoki’s undoubtedly grubby fingers back at the izakaya, but it had taken him longer than he wants to admit to sort through his own confused feelings about the fact that a) Gintoki had apparently put some time, thought, and effort into doing something he clearly thought he’d like, and b) Hijikata had actually appreciated it quite a lot. He swallows, licking his lips. After a slight pause, he puts Tomoe-chan down on the shelf next to Ketsuno Ana – and then, on a weird, inexplicable whim, turns them both around to face the bedroom wall.

Wandering away, he peers into the cupboard – hey, it’s open, it’s fair game – to see what is presumably Yorozuya’s futon jammed messily inside. And, oh – there, mostly hidden between the layers, is a magazine.

The corner of his mouth twitches as he pulls the magazine out. Just what kind of filth has Yorozuya been reading that he sees fit to keep it hidden?

Wait... is this Bitch Magazine? Why the hell would Yorozuya have a copy of Bitch Magazine?!

He angles it so that the cover better catches the moonlight, and... oh.

_**SHINSEN-SCREW-ME!!!** _

_**20 EXCLUSIVE STEAMY PICS!!!!!** _

_**WHAT DOES THE HUNKY VICE-CHIEF GET UP TO DURING HIS DOWNTIME???** _

... It’s strange, what he can deal with now. Sure, there’s the humiliation that burns even hotter than his usual constant low-level pre-emptive embarrassment... but he’s become used to that over the past few weeks. This... he thinks he can handle this. Squinting, he tries to make out the date on the cover. Almost two weeks ago – just after Kondou sent him off to go get skin cancer on some shitty beach somewhere. Sougo must’ve still been hoping to recapture lightning at that point. Hell, from the cursory glance he’s giving the pages right now, it looks like the little brat was actually trying to choose flattering pictures of him.

Hijikata stares down at the godawful magazine. There’s no way in hell Gintoki would’ve asked anyone else to buy this teenage trash for him, so he must’ve been desperate enough to go out and get it himself. And then hide it in his room. Under his futon. Hijikata swallows. 

“Hey, so I’ve got some senbei, I guess. They’ve been sitting out on the table for God knows how long, so they’re probably stale as fuck –”

He starts a little as Yorozuya’s maddening voice makes itself known, a moment before he ambles in through the shouji, looking studiously bored – obviously yelling at Hijikata about flour from the kitchen isn’t doing it for him anymore, and now he’s here to be obnoxious in a more personalised, one-on-one fashion. 

Or maybe he’s actually calmed down and stopped sulking? Is that dumb bastard here to pick up where he left off and resume the handjob he abandoned?

Or maybe he’s just going to stare at the general vicinity of Hijikata’s midsection while looking faintly embarrassed. Hijikata glances down for a second, confused, and – oh.

He’s still holding onto the copy of Bitch Magazine. Hijikata’s pretty familiar with the hierarchy of embarrassment at this point in his life, and, yeah, getting caught wanking to a trashy teen mag is fairly high up there in the humiliation stakes. 

He and Gintoki stare at each other for a good long moment, neither quite managing to maintain eye contact with the other; every time their eyes meet, his focus quickly skitters to some other part of Gintoki’s face. The whole thing is insanely stupid, and he’s not sure how to proceed. They can’t just _talk it out_ like rational adults, sheesh; the odds of one or both of them putting their foot square in their mouth are just too high, and he really doesn’t feel like a screaming match right now. He’s tired, and horny, and just sober enough to be able to see that he’s _not_ sober enough to be fully rational and considerate in any deep and meaningful conversation they may attempt. 

Maybe old man Matsudaira was onto something after all when he was going on about building character through humiliation; maybe _What would Matsudaira do?_ is a legitimate question he can ask himself in order to determine where he should go from here.

... Well, Pops would probably just discharge a firearm somewhere in the general vicinity of Yorozuya’s balls, say something semi-inscrutable, and waltz out of the room. Not overly helpful... and Hijikata’s not sure he could pull it off, anyway. Also, why the hell is he picturing the old man alone in the room with Gintoki? It’s not helping matters at all, and he can feel his eyelid twitching as his thoughts start to head down a path he wants nothing to do with.

_Focus, idiot._

Fine. It’s decided: he’s going to humiliate himself for the greater good. He’s had enough practice at it, after all, and maybe it won’t suck quite so hard as usual if he’s doing it on his own terms. Hopefully Gintoki will be surprised and/or turned on enough to forget about the tizz he got himself into earlier, and they can get back to fucking each other like they originally intended.

He resists the urge to clear his throat and instead simply takes a deep breath. He knows what he has to do. Provided he can bring himself to actually do it. 

“... So.” Hijikata thumbs through the pages without paying attention to a damn thing that’s on them, doing his best to pretend that his heart didn’t just start thumping at a million miles an hour, or that he can’t feel mortification already starting to creep up his throat. 

He knows that what he’s about to say is going to sound like something out of a bad porno; there’s no way that he can make eye contact with Gintoki while he’s saying it, and so he keeps his gaze focused on the magazine, watching the pages as he flips them.

_This is it. Just do it, you coward._

He attempts to drop his voice into a lower, sexier register. He almost chokes.

“When you said that you’d been jerking off and thinking of me, was this where you were doing it? Here in this room?”

It’s possible that Hijikata’s face is going to melt right off from the indignity that he’s inflicting on himself; however, the slightly strangled sound from the doorway indicates that maybe at least he’s not the only person here who wants to die right now.

“Were you lying on the futon? Or maybe you were leaning against the wall?” He drags his eyes upwards, forcing himself to look towards the source of all the stupid, conflicting, horny feelings that’ve been in his life of late. Senbei fall to the floor as Gintoki’s hand spasms; his face is practically glowing bright enough to light the room, his eyes wide. Hijikata forces himself to take a step forwards, then another, tossing the magazine aside as he crosses the room. “Or maybe it was in the bath? After a long, hard day of doing nothing, you thought, ‘what the hell, might as well justify the water I’m about to waste’?”

As if literally any of this weren’t awful enough, he’s finding himself getting hard again as well. Why is he turning himself on by saying all this stupid shit? What the hell is wrong with him? It’s decided: they _have_ to fuck, because there is literally nothing else on Earth that will excuse the things that are coming out of his mouth.

His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he figures it’s probably not the best moment to light up, and so his hand just kind of twitches uselessly at his side. He settles for folding his arms, but dear God, does he feel awkward. No cigarette, no sword – what the hell else is he supposed to do with himself, aside from sink slowly into a pit of mortification?

“Ah.” Gintoki scrubs a hand through his hair, eyes darting about for a moment before finally meeting Hijikata’s. They’re still slightly narrowed, as if he’s just a little bit wary. “I’m going to have to go with Option D: all of the above, plus the kitchen. And maybe a few other places. Which,” he quickly adds, “I’m not going to tell you, so don’t even ask, tax thief.”

Gintoki bends down to pick his senbei up off the floor, but Hijikata barely notices. He hadn’t been expecting _that_ honest of an answer, and shit, now he’s played himself, he’s definitely played himself, he can picture it all, he can _see_ the places where Yorozuya pulled his dick out of his pants, braced himself against the wall with one arm, bit his lip and muffled his moans to keep from alerting the hags downstairs –

Gintoki brushes against his thigh as he straightens up, and Hijikata can’t quite stifle the gasp that escapes his lips. That was absolutely unnecessary – Gintoki had the whole room to stand up in, he didn’t need to touch Hijikata while he did it – and somehow this filthy fucker has managed to get the upper hand in all this. He clearly spent the last few seconds mentally regrouping, because now he’s back to his usual infuriating dead-eyed self; he holds out one of his disgusting stale senbei and says, “Do you want this or not?”

 _Of course I don’t want your fucking floor senbei!_ Hijikata mentally hollers at him; out loud... ah, fuck it. He’s come this far. Might as well go all the way. 

“If I’m going to have something that hard in my mouth, then I can think of better things,” he mumbles, barely moving his jaw, and turning his head so he’s staring with great intensity at Gintoki’s bedroom wall. 

“What?” Gintoki asks, frowning. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Hijikata snaps, feeling his own fingernails digging into his crossed arms. God, if he’d known kissing Gintoki in the alley outside the izakaya was going to lead to him spouting this sub-backyard pornography dialogue less than an hour later, he honestly wonders if he would have bothered. 

“Yeah, obviously,” Gintoki says. “I just can’t believe you actually _said_ that.”

“Well, so fucking what? What do you _want_ me to say?” Hijikata barks back at him, forcing himself to meet Yorozuya’s eyes. Holding his gaze is one of the more difficult things he’s done in his life – he’s stared down countless crooks and gone toe-to-toe with terrorists without batting an eyelid, but somehow, locking eyes with some perm-headed idiot while offering him a blowjob in the stupidest, most roundabout way possible leaves those other situations in the dust as far as holding his nerve is concerned.

Still, he’s doing it, he’s managing not to avert his gaze even though he’s pretty sure his face is literally on fire, and – there. The vacant eyes stop being vacant and instead crinkle at the corners in a way that makes his heart stutter for a moment; he knows he’s being laughed at, but he doesn’t even mind – not _that_ much, anyway – and oh God, someone take him out the back and shoot him right now, because he’s got it _bad_.

“Idiot,” Gintoki murmurs, and then he’s _there,_ in Hijikata’s space, one calloused palm resting against his jaw, his fingers on the pulse in his neck. He looks really fucking good in the moonlight, and his smile is... well, it’s something other than mocking, at least. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hijikata mutters back, and okay, he’s _almost_ managed to release enough tension to uncross his arms, and – there it goes, he can move again. Before he can even make any conscious decision as to what he should do, Gintoki has hooked a finger into his obi, pulling him forward against him and pressing their lips together. This, at least, Hijikata doesn’t have to think about much: the kissing, groping, and trying to get Gintoki’s clothes off. At least this time around he doesn’t have to worry about the yukata, and so he goes straight for the pants, hastily undoing the belt and button with impatient fingers before yanking at the zip, sliding his hand inside and drawing out the erection that curves up between Gintoki’s thighs. 

It’s weird – the two of them spent way too long in each other’s bodies during that whole unfortunate episode, and yet it’s like he’s seeing Gintoki’s dick for the first time. He’d avoided looking at it and touching it whenever possible when he’d been inhabiting Gintoki’s body, and it somehow just hadn’t really occurred to him to think about it too much – he’d been too busy whipping Yorozuya’s employees into shape, after all.

But now... well, he thinks he could certainly learn to appreciate it better this time around. He certainly appreciates the fact that it seems like a pretty good, average-ish size – he’s not sure what he would do if Gintoki’s protagonist status had granted him some sort of monster cock. And _it_ apparently appreciates Hijikata’s presence, if the way it seems to strain against his hand is any indication; he runs his thumb experimentally over the head, enjoying the way that Gintoki gasps and staggers a little in response, leaning some of his weight gingerly back against the screen. Hijikata licks his lips, and, heart thumping, slowly starts to sink to his knees. 

“Hey.” Gintoki’s voice cuts through the vague haze in his brain. “You don’t want to do it like that – tatami’s murder on the knees.”

Hijikata blinks. Is this... not what he wants? He’d ask him, except that his brain is too busy strangling itself trying to sort through the implications of what Gintoki just said – _How the hell does he know that giving blowjobs on tatami is bad for the knees?!_

His confusion must be obvious, because Gintoki quickly backtracks. “Futon! Let’s get the futon out!” He laughs a little nervously, his grin bright in the moonlight. “I’m not listening to you bitching and moaning in the morning because your knees got all fucked up by my floor. Gin-san needs his beauty sleep.”

Hijikata just blinks again; Gintoki, for his part, is in very real danger of tripping over his own feet and snapping his own dick in half, given that he’s apparently decided that it’s a good idea to run for the cupboard while his pants are halfway down his thighs. If he breaks his dick now, Hijikata’s pretty sure he’ll never forgive him.

He yanks at the futon until it comes tumbling out of the cupboard... along with a cascade of other magazines, which Hijikata gets just a good enough look at to know he doesn’t want to see much more – _for fuck’s sake, how much of this garbage did Sougo publish? And how much of it did Yorozuya_ buy? – before Gintoki’s slammed open the balcony door and started using his foot to boot them out into the night beyond, yelling something about _Oh my God, I’ve told Shinpachi about leaving his shit in my room, haha, sorry about that, oh, whoops, there’s another one – okay, look, they were on sale – yeah, don’t look at that one – it’s not actually me, honestly – oh, for fuck’s sake, what do you want me to say, they were paying and Kagura was hungry, some of us aren’t on government salaries, asshole –_ but at least the futon’s flopped out flat now, and Gintoki has decided to shut himself up by kissing him again, tongue sweeping into his mouth, his hands everywhere. 

Hijikata finds himself on his knees before he even realises he’s moved, and Gintoki is staring at him with one hand clamped over his mouth, but it looks to be less of an _oh no, what have I done?_ kind of gesture and more of an _I’m probably going to start yelling very loudly and excitedly once you start sucking my dick_ gesture, and shit, they’re really going to do this, aren’t they? He’s going to suck Yorozuya’s dick, and then God knows what Yorozuya is going to do to _him,_ and at this point he’s just hoping he can last long enough to make it worth both their whiles. And also that he’s not going to give a completely substandard blowjob.

He’s been mostly successfully repressing the fact that he has even less experience with men than he does with women; now, he’s _just_ sober enough to realise that okay, he’s going to have to have his first time doing these things be with someone whose opinion he actually cares about, as much as he hates to admit it, and he doesn’t really have much idea of what he’s doing. There was one time a couple of years back when he’d been kind of curious about these things, and, after one too many drinks, had gone looking around online for information about how to give a good blowjob; there had been a video involving a grapefruit that had left him more confused than aroused, and he’d closed out of it after a few seconds and vowed never to look these things up again.

So yeah, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. But it can’t be that hard, right?

He glances up at Gintoki, who’s staring down at him, wild-eyed, his hand still clamped over his mouth, his chest heaving; it does wonders for Hijikata’s confidence, and so he pulls Gintoki’s pants and boxers the rest of the way down his thighs with one swift tug. Gintoki lets out a breathy moan as Hijikata runs his hand slowly along his hard length. He wants to see everything, to feel everything – and so he slides his fingertips gently over one of Yorozuya’s hipbones, enjoying the way it makes his muscles twitch, the way that he doesn’t quite manage to stifle his groan. Obviously, Gintoki hasn’t bathed and he smells like sweat and skin and pre-come, and Hijikata knows he really ought to be put off... but instead, he finds himself swallowing heavily, his breath thick in his throat. Leaning forward, he buries his nose into the hair at the base of Gintoki’s dick, inhaling deeply – and okay, so Yorozuya’s not the only one making embarrassing noises at this point, but he’s too far gone to care.

Hijikata licks his lips, gearing himself up to wrap his hand around Gintoki’s cock, to take the head into his mouth – he can feel his blood throb in his veins at the thought of it, but it’s also kind of looming up in his mind as _this is it, point of no return_ – when he feels Gintoki’s fingers curling themselves in his hair, pulling his head back hard enough that it sends pain shooting through his scalp. 

“ _Ow_ – what the _fu_ –” he starts to say, only for Gintoki to cut him off with a violently whispered, “ _Shut up!_ ”

He opens his mouth again to protest, because no, seriously, _what the fuck_ – but then he hears it. A quiet clattering from the foyer, a muttered curse, and oh, oh _shit,_ they didn’t lock the door, did they? They just fell into the house and tore at each other’s clothes, and he definitely slid the front door shut at one point, but nothing actually got locked, and just how stupid are they??

Yorozuya has loosened his grip on his hair, at least, and he turns his head towards the source of the noise, eyes wide, blood pounding in his ears.

... Nothing.

Maybe they both imagined it? Maybe the clattering was just some piece of junk falling off a shelf, and what he thought was someone muttering was just the sound of the wind rattling the screen? Yeah, that’s gotta be it. There’s been nothing else since then; the apartment is silent and still.

He lets himself breathe again, sagging down a little. Thank fuck. He’s obviously just jittery about the fact that he’s about to –

There’s a soft _click,_ and a long yellow stripe of light floods into the room through the half-open shouji, and then there’s the sound of someone muttering something out by the foyer.

Hijikata tries to move, but his entire body is frozen rigid... except for his heart, which is apparently trying to spasm its way clear out of his chest. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

The noises are now in the living area, moving slowly but steadily towards the bedroom; his hand tightens involuntarily around Gintoki’s thigh, even as he finally regains enough motor control to turn his head back towards him.

Too bad that, in his current position, turning his head back towards Gintoki basically means turning his head back towards Gintoki’s dick. It’s about an inch in front of his face, looming up in the newly lit room like some sort of wild, twitching beast, and it’s all he can do not to yelp. 

He cranes his neck back until he meets Gintoki’s gaze. Gintoki is wide-eyed, horror and horniness doing battle for control of his expression.

“Who the fuck is that?!” Yorozuya hisses, apparently oblivious to the fact that whoever it is is mere metres away.

“How the hell should I know?” Hijikata spits back, voice barely at a whisper. “It’s your house, asshole!”

“You think I interview burglars before I let them rob me?”

“Who gives a damn what you do? If you don’t know who it is or why they’re here, then we need to be able to defend ourselves, idiot! You really think we can do that with me on my knees and you with your dick out?” 

Hijikata curses the fact that he lost his sword back when they stumbled through the front door and threw all their stuff on the ground – it’s probably still in the foyer, and shit, he’s never let it leave his side before, even when he’s been so shitfaced he can’t stand on his own two feet. Is this what Gintoki has done to him? Is he so damn horny for the guy that he’ll pay more attention to the sword in his pants than the one in his scabbard? Why the hell is he still kneeling here when there’s potentially a deadly foe in the next room?!

“Put that thing away,” he whispers, trying to tug Gintoki’s pants up even as he keeps an ear out for the person in the living room. “Do you really want to fight them with it hanging out of your pants?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Yorozuya mutters. Before Hijikata can ask him to elaborate – he does _not_ want to know, but part of him seems to want to ask anyway – a sly expression slips over Gintoki’s face. His mouth twitches. “Hey, Hijikata-kun. I can think of a good place to hide it.”

“You wanna die?” Hijikata snaps, a little too loud – the sounds in the next room stop for a moment, and he freezes, stomach churning, until the sounds start up again. The person is still muttering to themselves, but it’s not quite loud enough for him to work out if it’s a voice he recognises or not.

Evidently, though, Gintoki does.

“Oh, fucking hell,” he whispers, his head falling back against the screen behind him. “Fucking, _fucking_ hell –”

For one awful, horrifying moment, Hijikata thinks it’s China, arriving home early from her sleepover at the castle – and oh _shit,_ maybe she’s not alone, maybe she’s brought the princess with her to show her how the other half lives or something, and if that’s the case and he’s got to stumble out of here and go face the Shougun’s younger sister like this, then Matsudaira won’t have to order him to commit seppuku because he’ll already have done it voluntarily. Gintoki’s probably got a butter knife around here somewhere that’ll do the trick.

But then he hears a _THUMP,_ followed by a stream of truly filthy expletives, and unless China’s picked up a pack-a-day smoking habit and filled out her vocabulary since the last time he saw her, that’s definitely not her.

Hijikata glances up at Gintoki. He still hasn’t lowered his head, but the way he’s clawing at his own face isn’t reassuring. 

“It’s fucking _Catherine._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cockblocky cliffhanger; it just got too long to post all as one part :x
> 
> Next bit goes up next week!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To refute scurrilous accusations of sadism, we're posting this chapter a few days early :D Enjoy!

_Catherine?_

It takes Hijikata a moment to sort through the stupidly long list of idiots Gintoki chooses to surround himself with before he finally matches a name to a face – and _oh fucking hell_ is right. It’s that waste of cat ears from downstairs. Even though he doesn’t particularly know her, he knows that she’s definitely nowhere near innocent enough to accept any kind of half-assed excuse they might give as to just why Yorozuya’s dick is _that_ close to his mouth.

He’s not the type to shed tears easily – the exact opposite, dammit – but the sheer frustration welling up inside him is making it a close thing in this instance. Why does the universe appear to be hell-bent on preventing him from getting laid? There are only so many times he can muster up his courage before it deserts him completely.

“Go tell her to get lost,” Hijikata whispers. “Fuck’s sake.”

Gintoki stares at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Hell no! I’m not going out there like this. What the fuck is wrong with you? You go.”

Hijikata honestly can’t tell if Gintoki is actually being serious or not – not that it matters, since there is absolutely no way in hell he’s doing that. There are just _so many_ things he doesn’t want to deal with in that scenario that he hardly knows which one to focus on – from getting up and going out there with an obvious erection to tell some cat-eared old hag to make herself scarce, to listening to Gintoki’s smug cracks about _Wow, Hijikata, did you get that hard just_ thinking _about sucking me off? Haha, that’s amazing!_ There’s nothing good about any of it. 

The muttering from the other side of the screen grows slightly louder and more intelligible. 

“... Got to be around here somewhere... don’t believe for a second that miserable sack of shit didn’t make any money off it....” 

It takes him a few moments to get his head around it, but then he works it out, and it’s all he can do not to yell his frustration to the world in general. That damn woman thinks Gintoki got rich off that whole godawful _Shinsengumi versus Yorozuya_ farce? Is she fucking kidding?! As if Yorozuya would still be living here if he were rich! Well, okay, he probably _would_ still be living here, because he’d blow all of his money on pachinko and JUMP and strawberry milk within the first forty-eight hours, but at least he’d have a pile of inferior manga and his inevitable descent into a diabetic coma as proof that he did, however fleetingly, come into some cash.

How long is she going to spend sneaking around in search of non-existent money? Is she going to come into Gintoki’s bedroom?

... Shit, of _course_ she’s going to come into Gintoki’s bedroom. They are absolutely, completely screwed.

He knows that he needs to get up and get his ass somewhere that isn’t _here_ – what kind of tactician can’t manoeuvre his way from ‘on his knees in front of a pantsless guy’ to ‘standing up straight next to a fully clothed guy’? – but his mind is completely bereft of anything even remotely helpful. He watches, entranced, as Catherine’s shadow creeps across the floor, her silhouette looming on the other side of the shouji. Her hand rises, reaching for the gap between the screens – and that’s about as much as Hijikata sees, because in the next second Yorozuya grabs him by the scruff of his collar and starts trying to shove him into the cupboard. 

All right, as plans go, it’s probably not the _worst_ one Gintoki could have come up with – but still, it’s going to be a tight fit, and it only takes care of half the problem anyway.

 _Your dick’s still hanging out of your pants, you fucking moron!_ he tries to somehow psychically transmit to Gintoki – but apparently that’s not an issue, since now Gintoki is crawling into the cupboard after him, jamming him up against the wall. There is literally no way both of them will fit, especially with all the other junk that’s already been crammed in here on the floor below the shelf.

Gintoki, however, is apparently determined to _make_ them both fit. Hijikata finds his limbs being forced into unnatural angles, Yorozuya’s arms and legs interlocking with them in a way that is going to be an absolute bitch to untangle, and he can’t help but grunt as a knee introduces itself to his gut.

_I’m going to kill this asshole. I’m going to fuck him, and then I’m going to kill him._

There’s a quiet rattling noise as Yorozuya tries to pull the cupboard door shut behind him. Biting back the worst of the imprecations that are sitting on the tip of his tongue, Hijikata attempts to extricate one of his arms until it’s outstretched enough to get his fingertips on the door; with a bit of work, he manages to jiggle it most of the way closed.

Hijikata lets his head fall forward with a sigh. He and Gintoki have gotten themselves stuck in a cupboard, are about to be busted hanging out in said cupboard by some asshole cat lady, and have apparently formed some kind of unholy Gordian knot with Yorozuya’s naked dick caught up in the centre of it all... but his ear is also pressed up against Gintoki’s chest, and he can hear the idiot’s heartbeat. It’s... nice. It’ll probably be even nicer once they manage to get out of this stupid situation and it’s not beating at quite such an insane rate. He thinks he could happily fall asleep listening to it.

“I fucking hate you,” he whispers.

“I know,” Gintoki whispers back. 

And then he shoves his hand over Hijikata’s mouth – _does the stupid bastard have a fetish or something?!_ – but Hijikata had been planning on shutting up anyway, because unlike _some_ people, he knows when to keep quiet... and then comes the horrible, awful sound of the shouji sliding open and Catherine stepping into the room.

“If I were a piece of human trash, where would I keep my money?” she muses to herself, and Hijikata closes his eyes, because there’s literally nowhere _to_ keep money in this room, except for the very cupboard they’re hiding in. _Fuck._

“Ah.”

Catherine evidently comes to the very same conclusion, because the pad of her footsteps gets louder, and her shadow falls across the small gap that’s been left in the door. 

_All right, fine,_ Hijikata thinks, and _maybe_ he’s gotten just the slightest bit hysterical. Gintoki’s heartbeat kicks it up a notch, as – he’s sure – does his own. _This is fine._

“Catherine!” 

Everything seems to freeze at the sound of the low, rasping voice coming from somewhere beyond the bedroom door. Catherine, at least, seems to have stopped dead in her tracks – the cupboard door hasn’t gotten any more open, and that’s really the only thing that matters.

“Otose-san! I –”

“And here I thought I asked you to fetch more beer from the storeroom. I don’t think you’ll be finding it in Gintoki’s closet, hmm?”

The old hag sounds more fondly exasperated than angry. Not that Hijikata particularly cares what she sounds like – she could be screaming abuse at the top of her lungs and he’d still be willing to kiss her feet in gratitude, because anything that keeps that meddling cat lady from opening the cupboard door and heaping scorn upon their half-naked, tangled-up bodies as they tumble onto the floor is a good thing.

“I’m sorry, Otose-san!” Catherine yelps, though it’s not particularly convincing. Sorry she got caught, maybe, but whatever – he just wants her to _go away_ before his heart gives out on him completely. 

“Hmph.” He can hear Otose taking a drag on her cigarette; he tries to get some vicarious enjoyment out of the sound, but no dice. “If that good-for-nothing layabout had any money, don’t you think I would’ve gotten it out of him already?”

Gintoki tenses against him, his fingers digging into his cheek for a moment, and Hijikata wills him to keep a calm head. Now is no time for misplaced pride... which is pretty much any pride at all, at the moment.

“Of course you would’ve, Otose-san. You’re an inspiration to us all,” Catherine says sweetly, and ugh, could she lay it on any thicker? Still, she’s taking her hand off the cupboard door, and – yeah, that’s definitely a step in the other direction, she’s definitely walking away from them.

“You’d do well to remember that,” Otose says. “Now, go get that beer before the customers start rioting.”

“Yes, Otose-san!” Catherine’s footsteps hurry towards the door, growing fainter until he can only just hear them clattering down the staircase.

Hijikata’s not going to throw up in relief, but it’s a closer thing than he’d like to admit. He wouldn’t put it past Yorozuya, though, who is now sagging against him like a puppet whose strings have been cut. 

... Still. They’re not out of the woods yet. There was definitely only one set of footsteps; the bigger threat is still here, standing in the bedroom doorway, contentedly exhaling cigarette smoke like there’s all the time in the world.

“And you two,” Otose says out of nowhere, her voice somewhat lower. Hijikata does his absolute best not to jump, but _shit_. “Try to keep the thumping and yelling to a minimum. I have a bar full of customers downstairs.” There’s a slight pause. “And stop throwing magazines off the balcony.”

And with that, the light clicks off, footsteps pad their way across the living room, and a few moments later Hijikata hears the very definite _smack_ of the front door sliding firmly closed.

They lie there in silence, staring at each other in the near darkness. There’s no sound except their breath, passing between each other’s open lips.

Hijikata blinks. “What the _fuck,_ Yorozuya.”

Gintoki immediately rears back insofar as the shelf above him will allow it, an expression of self-righteous rage plastered across his stupid face. “Oh, like that was any weirder than you picking up the phone to your gorilla boss in the middle of a handjob,” he yells.

“That was completely different,” Hijikata hisses at him, all too aware of the fact that Yorozuya is being _way_ too loud for someone who just got told to shut up by his landlady. And for God’s sake, he is _not_ having any more of this conversation while stuck inside Gintoki’s cupboard. He scrabbles at the door, finally managing to get it open, and the two of them spill out into the room. Gintoki hauls himself into a sitting position and moans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh man, we owe the old bag bigtime for this. You have no idea.”

Hijikata doesn’t really want to think through the implications of that statement right now, so instead he staggers to his feet and goes to turn the lights back on. The window of opportunity for sex has well and truly been slammed shut, and he’s not about to sit here in the darkness while Yorozuya mopes.

He turns back to see that Gintoki is now sprawled on the futon, but in a sullen way, rather than a sexy way. The moment suddenly seems imbued with deeper meaning – if he fucks up here, he thinks he might have fucked up for good – and so he holds back on the more caustic comments he could make, instead going over to the balcony door and opening it slightly before fishing around in his yukata for his cigarettes. He leans back against the wall as he takes one out and lights it, blowing the smoke out into the night before turning back to Gintoki. 

“Go on,” Yorozuya mutters, and his face has fallen back into its regular dead-eyed expression. Hijikata is more annoyed than usual to see it – he’d never admit it to anyone, but he’s actually been enjoying seeing a range of honest emotions from Gintoki this evening, even if some of them are irritating as all hell. “Get it all out of your system, then.”

Hijikata thinks for a good long moment, trying to distil all his scattered thoughts and concerns and confusion into one coherent question. Finally, he settles for:

“What the hell was that?”

“ _That,_ ” says Gintoki airily, “is what happens when the hard-working proletariat struggle to keep a roof over their heads. We can’t all have cushy government jobs, you know.”

His first instinct – to point out how Yorozuya was throwing his money around earlier this evening – is quickly quashed. He can’t tell whether Gintoki is just venting his frustrations or actually looking for a fight... but either way, apparently his silence drags on long enough to piss Yorozuya off. 

“Hurry up and deal with it – I already worked through my stages of grief about the fact that if I get you, I get the gorilla, that infant sadist, and whatever other clowns you have stuffed in your clown patrol cars while I was in the kitchen. Grow up, get out of denial, and join me over here in depression.” 

Hijikata swallows down his first, reflexive response, which goes something along the lines of _who the hell said anything about_ getting _me,_ and instead tries to focus on what Gintoki is actually _saying,_ his teeth worrying a little at the filter of his cigarette. 

_So I’ve inherited two interfering old hags, a neurotic, overbearing otaku, and a red-headed devil child? And they’re apparently going to barge in and interrupt every time I actually try to have sex with Gintoki, which is literally the only reason I inherited them in the first place?_

He somehow manages to resist the urge to groan, although he does close his eyes and rub at his forehead for a moment. What is it that Gintoki actually wants him to say? He hates to admit it, but anything to do with relationships in general and sex in particular is practically a foreign language to him – and really, is it any wonder that there’s a little part of him, buried deep where no one else can see, that may be panicking just a little? Now that it’s just him standing there and Gintoki sprawled on the futon – no frantic kissing, no interruptions, none of the incredibly distracting insanity of two weeks ago, not even any alcohol anymore, just the two of them barely saying a word – is it really all that surprising his mind is dredging up every single reason why this is a bad idea? 

He realises that he’s been silent way too long; he opens his eyes and raises his head, fully expecting to be greeted with a smirk or exasperation or a childish tantrum. Instead, Gintoki is scrutinising him out of the corner of his eye as he picks his nose, and God, that should be a complete boner kill, shouldn’t it? Even worse than receiving phone calls from Kondou or getting walked in on by cat women and landladies – all of whom seem to have some freakish sixth sense about what’s going on – or the knowledge of just how much he’s probably about to complicate his life in a way he _really_ doesn’t need to? Somehow it’s not, though, even when Gintoki pulls his finger out, inspects whatever’s on it for a moment and then blows it off with an infuriating insouciance. At this point, it would actually be easier if Yorozuya just threw a strop and yelled at him about something – his job, his ability to save money, his eating habits – Hijikata’s not really fussy about what. At least he’d know what to do with that. 

_... Ah, fuck it._

He lights a second cigarette without even really thinking about what he’s doing and looks out into the street. It’s lit up – because of course it is, it’s barely eleven p.m. and this is Kabukichou – and he can see people milling around below, laughing and shouting and drinking, and he can even see a young couple who probably think they’re hidden in the shadow of a doorway making out like there’s no tomorrow. Hijikata swallows a little uncomfortably at the thought that anyone could have looked out a window and seen him and Yorozuya doing the same thing in that alleyway not too long ago, like they’re not grown adults who should know better. He remembers that chest-tightening, heart-pounding feeling from his own teenage years, and if anyone had ever told him that he’d be feeling it again for some slovenly, glucose-addicted imbecile with dubious personal hygiene, he would’ve skewered them on the spot.

There’s a shuffling sound behind him, and he turns around in time to see Gintoki getting up off the futon and ambling towards him – and Hijikata tries extremely hard not to notice that while Gintoki has shoved his dick back into his pants, they’re sitting kind of low on his hips and now he’s one miscalculated movement away from it falling out again. 

Gintoki leans back against the balcony door, his arms crossed over his chest, looking up at the ceiling. After a moment, he reaches over and snatches Hijikata’s cigarette out of his fingers, taking a drag. “Well, anyway. You could go downstairs and get a beer if you wanted one. Catherine’s probably back by now – but then again, given what a lazy piece of shit she is, maybe not.” He exhales, not bothering to direct the smoke out the door the way Hijikata had considerately been doing. “Don’t expect them to get you your usual dog food, though – Otose runs a classy establishment here. She’s not in the business of making her customers throw up everywhere.”

Hijikata might be an idiot about these things, but he understands what this is. Gintoki’s giving him a no-fault, no-foul way out of this – and hell, maybe he even wants him to take it. Gintoki probably has his own reasons for wanting out – he’d be willing to bet that Yorozuya has his own skeletons to deal with. How could he not? Hijikata has no idea what kind of personal relationships a Shiroyasha-turned-Yorozuya would have gotten into over the years, but he’d be willing to bet that some of them were at least as fucked up as Hijikata’s own. 

“Yeah, Shinpachi’s probably going to be here early in the morning too – and believe me, there’s nothing worse than listening to him bitching and vacuuming and bitching some more when you’ve got a hangover. And Kagura gets pretty territorial around the kitchen in the mornings, just so you know. And the toilet. You don’t fucking need that.”

Hijikata stares out over the rooftops. He could snatch his cigarette back, he supposes, but instead he just grabs another one from the pack. 

Well, no. Gintoki’s right: he doesn’t fucking need that. He doesn’t really need most things that happen to him. But he usually deals with them, doesn’t he? Is he really going to get scared off by the idea that Gintoki comes as part of a package deal with a four-eyed kid, a scary landlady, and a pre-adolescent girl who could most likely kick his ass? He takes a final drag on his cigarette before crushing it out against the railing. 

And sure, he’s still not completely over Mitsuba... but he’s doing a hell of a lot better than he has been since she died. Since he came to Edo, really. Normally he wouldn’t even dream of letting himself get this far with anyone before pulling himself back into line with thoughts of her, and what he did to her. It’s been a weight on his shoulders that he never fully recognised until it started to lift, and the idiot standing next to him has done more to lighten it than he’d even realised until this moment.

Hijikata wants him. No, he doesn’t fucking need him, or any of the mountains of shit he comes with, but he wants him. He’s mostly sober now and more clear-headed than he’s been in weeks, and he still wants him – hell, he wants him more than ever. His heart kicks up a gear in anticipation, and he licks his lips. 

“Hey, asshole.”

Gintoki blinks, his smile a little cautious. “Yeah, dickhead?”

“C’mere.”

Hijikata leans forward, wrapping one hand around the back of Gintoki’s head and pulling him in for a kiss while the other slides the balcony door firmly shut. It means he has to lean over a fair way to get to Gintoki, which is kind of awkward, but it’s good. Real good. The desperation from earlier has faded away, and now he can just enjoy it, paying attention to all the little details that were escaping him before: the way that Gintoki’s ridiculous hair feels underneath his fingers; the taste of his mouth; the tiny sigh that escapes him whenever Hijikata runs his fingertips down the back of his neck.

For a moment, Gintoki pulls back, and Hijikata thinks he’s going to start up again – blabbering about Shinpachi and going downstairs and dog food – but he doesn’t, he just takes half a moment to look at Hijikata’s eyes as if he’s looking for something, and then he leans in and kisses him again. 

Hijikata still doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but he’s a fast learner, even if this has been one hell of a learning curve – he’s pretty sure most people don’t get stuffed into cupboards during this kind of thing. Or maybe they do, who the fuck even knows. He can’t honestly say he cares.

“Did you know,” Gintoki murmurs between kisses, “those magazines – which aren’t mine, by the way – say that you and I are the same height, but that I weigh four kilos more?”

“I don’t care,” Hijikata replies, doing his best to shut up Yorozuya with his mouth. He’s not going to fall for this bullshit – he’s in a relatively happy, horny, non-argumentative mental space, dammit! Does that idiot _know_ how uncommon that particular combination is?! He might never encounter it again!

“You should,” Yorozuya says, pulling back, and – is he waggling his eyebrows? “Because all of that extra weight is in the one place.”

He leers meaningfully down at his own dick, and... yeah, so much for those thirty seconds of bliss. Maybe Gintoki’s still trying to get rid of him. Maybe he’s actually found something that’d work.

Hijikata glances down, eyeing his crotch dubiously. Yeah, nah, not even fucking _close_. “Not likely. That’d have to be centre-of-a-black-hole dense.”

“Ouch.” Gintoki’s expression is hurt, although there’s definitely a twitch at the corner of his mouth where there’s a traitorous smile trying to escape. 

Hijikata narrows his eyes, peering at Gintoki’s dick with exaggerated concern. “Anyway, if it _is_ that heavy, then there’s no way I’m letting that thing anywhere near me. So I’m going to hope that that was an exaggeration, Yorozuya.”

The idiot shrugs. “If you really want to know, you’re just going to have to go find out for yourself.”

He _knows_ he’s playing into Gintoki’s hands, that Gintoki _knows_ that he’s biologically incapable of backing down from a challenge and is using it against him, but whatever. He doesn’t actually care in the slightest; if anything, he’s grateful. Steeling himself, he reaches down and pulls out Gintoki’s half-hard cock, enjoying the feel of it in his hand, the warmth of it, the way that Gintoki shivers.

“What’s your, ah, assessment of the situation, Officer?”

Hijikata puts on his best frown, since apparently that’s the kind of thing that gets this jackass hot. “My _assessment_ is that you’re an idiot who needs to shut up.” 

He punctuates the words _assessment_ and _shut up_ with an ungentle squeeze, and Gintoki makes a sound that could charitably be described as a squawk.

“I – ah – can’t make that promise –”

 _Oh God, he really can’t, can he?_ Well, luckily for Gintoki he wasn’t actually expecting it.

“– But I _do_ promise to make you feel really fucking good, if that’s worth anything.”

_Hmph._

“It’s a start.”

There’s a gleam in Gintoki’s eye, and oh shit, he knows that this isn’t going anywhere good. “Glad to hear it, Mr Policeman.”

“Enough with the Mr – _oi!_ What are you –”

Yorozuya’s flipped their positions before he realises what’s going on, pushing him back against the wall, his fingers scrabbling at Hijikata’s obi. Not that he objects – he’s been trying to get the damn thing off all fucking night – but he _does_ object to Yorozuya calling the shots. At least until Gintoki shoves his hand into his underwear, and then he can’t do anything except suck in a quick, shallow breath and flatten himself against the wall. 

He doesn’t really bother to cover the sound he makes at the first long slide of Gintoki’s fingers around him – especially not when Gintoki drops a kiss against his neck, his breath warm and damp, his teeth grazing against his skin. He doesn’t even have it in him to tell Gintoki to knock it off – fine, he likes biting, Hijikata can deal with it, but he’ll still murder him if he gives him a hickey anywhere above the collar line – since his entire brain is taken up at the moment by clutching Gintoki’s shoulders and staying mostly vertical. 

Gintoki tightens his fist around his cock as his other hand slides up Hijikata’s side, his thumb brushing over a nipple, and _what the fuck,_ there is absolutely no reason that should have felt so good; he can already feel his thighs shaking, and he knows that unless Gintoki stops or slows down, this isn’t going to last very long at all. But he just can’t get the words out, his throat too tight to let them pass, his teeth gritted, his jaw clenched, as pleasure flares through him with every firm stroke of Gintoki’s hand. He can feel the pressure welling in his groin, dark heat gathering at the base of his spine, and _ah, fuck it_ – he might be going to come quickly, but right now, he just doesn’t care. He’s been waiting too long for this, thinking about it, wanting it, wondering why the fuck he didn’t just let Gintoki kiss him in that alley all those months ago – 

“ _Gintoki._ ” The name’s out of his mouth before he can stop it; he’s teetering on the edge, and just one more clench of Gintoki’s fist will do it –

– which is apparently Gintoki’s cue to stop. For a moment, Hijikata’s blood runs cold as he waits to hear Kondou or Kagura or Shinpachi or fucking Sougo or whatever other citizen of Edo who seems hellbent on him not getting laid call out through the apartment, but there’s nothing. It takes him a moment to convince himself, but when he’s sure, Hijikata groans, feeling a lot of really nasty threats trying to bully their way out of his mouth. Yorozuya’s face looks just about as smug as he expected it would, and fuck, he really is going to kill him this time, he really, truly is. He thumps his fist into Gintoki’s shoulder, frustration boiling in his gut.

“You absolute piece of shit – why did you –”

“Wow, Hijikata-kun. You’re so impatient. What’s up with that? This is what happens when you get your own way all the time – it’s not very character-building.” 

“ _Get my own –_ ” Hijikata stares at him. _Just what the fuck does he think my life is like?!_ The last time he got his own way was precisely never, unless you count the time he got a good laugh out of Yamazaki tripping and falling into the pond in his haste to pretend to go do whatever Hijikata had told him to do. And it wasn’t like he’d planned that, it’d just happened.

He’s trying to figure out just which one of the filthy curse words that’re crowding his mind to hurl at Yorozuya before he kicks him in the nads and storms out of his apartment, when his brain catches up to what his eyes are now beginning to register – which is Gintoki, still smirking slightly, dropping to his knees in front of him, pulling his underpants down as he goes.

Hijikata’s mouth goes dry. He suddenly remembers that that was what _he_ was supposed to be doing before they’d been so rudely interrupted. He licks his lips, wondering if he should offer – not that Yorozuya deserves it, the stupid prick – but apparently Gintoki reads his thoughts on his face before he can say anything, and shakes his head slightly.

“Not that you staring at my dick like you’re Bambi and it’s oncoming traffic isn’t great and all, but let me do this.” 

Hijikata feels himself flush. Great – so he can’t even keep from humiliating himself with blowjobs he hasn’t even given. Wonderful. Fuck, he should just gather up whatever shreds of his dignity remain and leave, and just forget about getting laid ever again. Clearly, it’s just not for him. That is, at least, until Gintoki reaches up and curls his hand around the base of his cock and then leans forward, running his tongue along its full length. Hijikata arches up and opens his mouth, but he can’t fucking breathe – and then Yorozuya dips his head and draws him into the wet heat of his mouth. 

“Oh – _fuck_ –” 

Gintoki’s thumbs are slotted into the grooves of his hipbones, but it doesn’t stop him from bucking forward, and he raises his forearm to cover his mouth to keep from yelling out something even stupider even more loudly. His teeth dig into the flesh of his own arm, his eyes squeezed shut, as pleasure roils through him with every bob of Gintoki’s head. His left hand scrabbles at the wall behind him, fingernails digging into the soft wood of the panelling and probably leaving scratch marks, because _fuck fuck fuck,_ he can’t deal with this. He can feel the head of his cock pushing against the back of Gintoki’s throat every time he presses forward, the flat of his tongue dragging along the underside in a way that feels almost indulgent, and for fuck’s sake, he could have had this months ago – maybe _years_ ago – if only he’d been able to get his goddamned act together, and he probably wouldn’t have had to go through the humiliation of having Sougo making that awful website to get it. 

Hijikata almost wants to open his eyes and look down at what’s going on, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it – and a big part of the reason is that he knows if he does, he’s going to come right now, straight down Gintoki’s throat before he can stop himself. He’s already so close to the edge, the building pressure in his groin becoming unbearable. A shudder runs down the full length of his spine as Gintoki’s tongue runs over the throbbing head of his cock. Light blooms behind his eyelids, and he tastes blood as his teeth break the skin of his forearm. He’s _so close_ – 

He doesn’t even really register that Gintoki has moved his hand until his fingernails scrape along the small of his back, catching the root of every nerve and forcing a sound that is very definitely _not_ a whimper from between his lips. Then it slides down, cupping his ass as if to hold him in place, and then his fingers creep slowly over, sliding between the cheeks, pressing inward –

“Watch yourself, Yorozuya,” Hijikata manages to get out – barely – hoping it sounds more like a growl than a gasp. 

In response, Gintoki pulls back, taking his mouth off Hijikata’s dick, though his other hand keeps sliding over it. Hijikata forces himself to look down, his head feeling too heavy on his neck. Gintoki is looking up at him, one eyebrow quizzically raised. His mouth is shiny and wet, and fuck, Hijikata can feel his dick throb just looking at him. It’s fucking ridiculous. It’s fucking _obscene._

“Oh, come on, Hijikata,” he says after a moment, his voice sounding slightly more throaty than usual. “How’re you going to know if you don’t try? And anyway – I did promise you.” 

Hijikata stares down at him, about to tell him that he doesn’t remember any promise to shove his fingers up his asshole, before the words _I_ do _promise to make you feel really fucking good_ drift through his memory, and he swallows heavily. 

“I –”

He supposes that some people must like it, otherwise they wouldn’t do it, right? He doesn’t want to admit it, but there is a part of him that’s curious – probably the same part of him that led him to that grapefruit blowjob video, so clearly it’s not a part of him that can be trusted – but he’s not really in the habit of indulging his curiosity.

Gintoki’s still _looking_ at him, though, and probably thinking he’s a sour-faced prude, and for fuck’s sake, he’s come this far, hasn’t he? If he doesn’t like it, he can always tell Yorozuya to take them out again and keep his fucking fingers to himself next time. 

“F-Fine,” he eventually says, as Gintoki circles his thumb over the head of his dick, sending a bright throb of pleasure straight up his spine. 

Gintoki doesn’t say anything in response to that – he just grins, before lowering his head again and taking Hijikata back in his mouth, his hand squeezing his ass. 

Gintoki’s mouth feels as good as ever, but Hijikata swallows as one finger, slick with spit and pre-come, traces down his ass, softly circling over his entrance, before pushing inside. He holds his breath, waiting for pain – but it’s not bad, even if it’s not especially doing anything for him either. But then Gintoki curls his finger inside him, and Hijikata cries out as a flare of ecstasy tears through him, muscles tensing, his back curving away from the wall and his hand grabbing at the back of Gintoki’s head, grasping at his hair. He can feel his toes curl against the futon, feel himself clench around Gintoki’s finger as it arches again – and that’s really all it takes to make him immediately come, quickly and violently, and with a desperate groan that feels like it starts at his toes and drags its way up through his entire body, leaving nothing at all in its wake. 

Everything after that is a haze – he’s _very_ slightly aware of sliding down the wall, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and leaning his forehead against one of his drawn-up knees; at some point, Gintoki’s hand presses against his cheek, lifting his head so he can kiss him. Hijikata can taste himself in his mouth, and he realises he really ought to be disgusted and to tell Gintoki to stop it – but he just can’t do it, since apparently Gintoki has turned him into a boneless, stuttering idiot. And anyway, he supposes he kind of deserves it, since it’s supposed to be polite to give a guy a warning. 

When he does finally lift his head, he finds Yorozuya sprawled out on the futon, picking his nose again and looking at him expectantly. “That was worth all the hassle, wasn’t it, Hijikata-kun?” 

“Fuck off,” Hijikata mumbles, because as if Yorozuya doesn’t know the answer to _that_ already and isn’t just fishing for compliments.

“That’s gratitude,” Gintoki says, rolling over onto his back, but there’s no bite to the words at all. 

God, he needs a cigarette. 

He gropes around in the folds of his yukata and eventually manages to find the box – but apparently at some point he sat on it or something, because it’s almost completely crushed. 

_Ah, hell._ He opens it up and sifts around in the debris, but all of the remaining cigarettes bar one are squashed beyond any smokable state. Hijikata pulls it out and looks at it for a long moment, before putting it back where it came from, and then tossing the box down on the shelf where it can’t come to any further harm. 

“It’s a filthy habit anyway,” Gintoki informs him as Hijikata flops down on the futon next to him. He manages to shed his yukata as he goes, not that it matters, since it’s crumpled beyond help by now anyway. 

“Is that why you’ve been stealing them all goddamned night?”

Gintoki shrugs, looking at the ceiling. “Nerves.” 

_... Huh._

Not that it’s all that much of a surprise, really – Gintoki’s been veering between channelling his inner smooth-talking... ish... Lothario and pissily slamming cupboard doors all evening, so it’d certainly explain a lot – but the fact that he’s just admitting it so casually is definitely unexpected. The Yorozuya he’s more familiar with would never divulge that kind of weakness... but then again, the Yorozuya he’s familiar with wouldn’t have stuck a finger up his ass, either. Probably. Not without malicious intent, anyway.

He should probably care about that, he thinks – just like he supposes he should care that Gintoki has rolled back over onto his side, propping his head up on his elbow. The futon’s not that big, and he can feel Gintoki’s half-hard cock pressing against his hip; he might not know much about this stuff, but he _can_ figure out for himself that leaving a guy hanging is probably not great sex etiquette. This first night will set the tone for every other night, and he’s pretty sure that if he gets out-gallanted by this dumb prick now, he might as well just give up on the whole damn thing. He is _not_ going to put up with Gintoki being a smug son of a bitch every time they fuck.

Hijikata swallows, frowning. Okay, just when did this become an _every time_ thing, instead of a _just this once to get it out of their systems_ thing? If his own brain is going to conspire against him now, then he may as well go up onto Yorozuya’s roof right now and throw himself off it. 

Next to him, Yorozuya sighs – impatiently? Indulgently? Shit, he can’t tell – before muttering, “Fuck’s sake, Hijikata-kun,” and leaning down to kiss him.

Hijikata makes a brief, abortive attempt to shove him off and say something like _don’t talk to me like that, you stupid prick,_ but either Gintoki doesn’t notice or he actively enjoys it, because he just presses closer, opening his lips wider and pressing his tongue deeper, groaning into Hijikata’s mouth, teeth sliding over his lower lip.

Gintoki shifts his weight, throwing his thigh across Hijikata’s abdomen so he’s balancing on his knees and elbows above him. And – whatever. Hijikata lets him, craning his head back against the futon so he can keep kissing him, his fingers tugging at the zip of Gintoki’s shirt – _how the hell is he still wearing so many clothes?!_ – and shoving it off his shoulders. It’s not very effective, and eventually Gintoki straightens up briefly to just tear the damn thing off and chuck it across the room, where it presumably joins a pile of other junk in a corner – and then Hijikata is running his hands over the bare, slightly sweaty skin of Gintoki’s sides, feeling the dips and grooves of his muscles as they shift beneath it, pressing his fingers into the soft spaces between his ribs. 

He’s already half-hard again despite the fact the rest of him still hasn’t quite got over his post-orgasm lassitude, and he shudders when Gintoki dips his hips, sliding their dicks against each other; he can’t stop himself from arching up, his muscles clenching even at that light touch, like a jolt of electricity running straight through him. He hears himself moan mindlessly, and fuck, this is pathetic, how quickly he’s lost himself in this. One good blowjob, and now he’s letting Yorozuya move so he’s kneeling between his legs, his hand in the crook of Hijikata’s knee, his pants pushed halfway down his thighs and his cock a bare inch away from Hijikata’s own. 

Hijikata has a moment of hesitation, wondering if he’s even going to stop Gintoki if he tries to do what Hijikata thinks he’s going to do, but then Yorozuya just leans forward over him again, mouth on his, hand on the back of his neck, as his fingers close around him like a vice. If there’s a name for the sound he makes, Hijikata doesn’t know what it is: a rasping, half-strangled moan that forces its way up from the back of his throat, half-muffled by Yorozuya’s mouth but still loud enough to be embarrassing. 

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit –_

He feels Gintoki shift slightly, the hot head of his cock nudging against his balls before moving up, pushing his full length up against his own. Blood rushes to his face and his dick, and it takes Hijikata a second to realise that Yorozuya has his hand wrapped around them both, moving his hips in long, indulgent strokes, and – oh, right. _That’s_ what he’s doing. _That’s also good,_ Hijikata thinks, his head dropping back, eyes closing, as a shudder racks through him. 

It’s both too much and not enough – Hijikata has never known Yorozuya to take his time over anything, unless it’s a nap; he gutses his food, races through his shoddy work, and throws back his drinks faster than anyone he’s ever met, but he seems completely fine to take his time over this. If there’s any formula to it, then Hijikata can only think that it’s calculated to be whatever will drive him the most absolutely fucking insane at any given moment – because really, what else would it be? What else, really, would it be? There’s no reason for this otherwise, and there’s literally no one else on the planet who is quite _this_ good at making him lose his absolute shit. He throws one arm around the back of Gintoki’s neck, pulling him closer as Gintoki moves himself again in a long, slow slide, pushing over his ass, over his balls, and along the underside of his throbbing, aching dick.

Hijikata grits his teeth, his heart stuttering in his chest. His lips are directly next to Gintoki’s ear.

“If you’re going to fuck me, just hurry up and fuck me.” 

Gintoki’s breath hitches, and he stops what he’s doing for a moment, though he doesn’t otherwise react – and for fuck’s sake, if this idiot makes him say it again Hijikata swears he’s going to knee him in the balls and take care of things himself by going and jerking off in the bathroom and then wiping his dick on Gintoki’s face towel.

He’s almost certain he _is_ going to have to say it again when Gintoki sits up slightly, raising a hand; Hijikata’s not sure what he’s going to do, until, looking down at him, Gintoki smoothes the flat of his palm over Hijikata’s forehead, pushing his sweaty hair back off his face. 

“You look _way_ better without the v-shaped bangs, Hijikata-kun,” Yorozuya says, his voice little more than a throaty whisper, before he leans down to kiss him again.

Hijikata blinks, indignant, barely remembering to kiss back. Should he feel flattered or insulted? Hell, why not both? Does Yorozuya really think that he’s not aware of his hair’s shortcomings? Like that poodle-permed prick can talk!

Irritated, he shoves his tongue deeper into Yorozuya’s mouth and grabs a fistful of his stupid hair in an attempt to pull him closer. There may also be teeth involved, but really, the bastard had it coming.

He’d be more than happy to just keep mindlessly doing this for a while, but eventually Gintoki breaks it off and pulls back. The shithead is staring down at him with a smile that does not bode anything good – or rather, it does bode something very good indeed, but also something that he’s never going to hear the end of – and Hijikata’s breath quickens in response. God, he just wants Yorozuya to stick it in him, dignity be damned. He’s stuck in a place somewhere between wounded pride and relief – part of him wants to throw Yorozuya to the ground and show him who’s boss, and the other part is just grateful that Gintoki is showing him the ropes without making a big deal out of it. 

“Hang on a sec,” Gintoki says, and then he hops up and hurries across the room, kicking his pants off as he goes, while Hijikata stares at the ceiling and tries to calm his breathing. How can he be so turned on when he just came a few minutes ago? Why is it that he suddenly _really_ wants Gintoki to fuck his ass? It’s not like many of his fantasies over the past few weeks even involved this kind of thing – most of them were just half-formed daydreams involving gropings and humpings, and also whispered declarations that he would most definitely rather die than admit to – but now that it’s been offered to him, he can barely think of anything else.

Gintoki practically falls onto the futon next to him, tumbling to his knees while simultaneously trying to unscrew the cap off – _oh_. Hijikata can feel his eyebrows rising clear off his forehead – _not that that asshole would be able to tell, what with my hair apparently spoiling the view_ – and his mouth drops open a little. Because Gintoki is hurriedly lubing up his dick, and okay, that’s surprisingly considerate of him... but more importantly, it’s really fucking hot. Hot enough to mostly distract him from the fact that Gintoki apparently keeps sex stuff in the cupboard that they were hiding in, and who knows what else he has in there? Not that Hijikata thinks he could afford much, but maybe there’s someone out there whose only method of payment in exchange for having their fence painted was a full set of bondage gear. God, he doesn't want to think about it. 

Gintoki bends down low, face close enough that his breath spills over Hijikata’s cheek, close enough that Hijikata can feel the heat rolling off him. The asshole is trying to build the anticipation, and damn him, it’s working – it’s all that he can do to hold eye contact.

After a long moment, Gintoki smiles and lowers his head down to Hijikata’s ear, and Hijikata yelps as the bastard pulls at his earlobe with his teeth. His fucking _ear_ – what right does his _ear_ have to make him feel so good –

“I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t up for it, Hijikata-kun,” Yorozuya murmurs in a tone that somehow manages to be both irritating and sexy. Hijikata gets it – he’s giving him one last chance to get into an argument that’ll give him an excuse to back out... well, not _gracefully,_ but at least with a bit of his dignity intact.

But yeah, it doesn’t really do much except stoke a competitive fire under his ass.

“Bring it on, asshole,” he mutters, and he feels Gintoki smile against his neck, dropping a couple of lingering kisses there before lifting himself upright once more and bringing himself to a kneeling position between Hijikata’s legs. He suddenly feels incredibly exposed, but fuck it, it’s going to be worth it. Maybe he _is_ building an immunity towards embarrassment... and all it took was Gintoki sticking a finger up his ass.

Gintoki’s hands are on him, running lightly over his abdomen, teasing out shivers and twitches... and now they’re moving down further, and Hijikata feels Gintoki’s blunt nails digging into the skin at the back of his thigh, pushing his leg up. He obliges, hooking his leg over Yorozuya’s shoulder and trying not to think about the level of trust that this whole thing implies.

Gintoki’s hand gropes between them, his fingers briefly sliding over his cock before pressing downwards, slick with lube.

“This might be a little cold,” Gintoki says, and yeah, it is, but it warms up quick enough. _Fuck,_ it’s good.

Hijikata turns his head to the side, pressing his lips together to stop himself from moaning; as it is, he can’t quite keep back a short, sharp grunt when he feels the head of Yorozuya’s cock press against him, harder and hotter than he had expected it to be, even though he feels like he should be at least somewhat familiar with it by now. 

He grits his teeth as Yorozuya moves, pushing into him slowly; Hijikata still can’t _quite_ bring himself to look him in the face, so he keeps his head turned to the side, his eyes squeezed shut. Of course it hurts – he expected that – but he’s not about to tell Yorozuya to stop. He was the one who wanted this, after all, so it’s on him if he doesn’t –

Hijikata lets out a sudden yelp, twisting up off the futon as Gintoki’s hand wraps around his dick, stroking him slowly – he immediately clamps his mouth shut again, but it’s a bit late now, he realises. He can feel himself trembling anyway, muscles contracting in time with the movement of Gintoki’s hand; it’s too much, it’s _too fucking much_ when it’s combined with Gintoki’s cock sunk inside him, his balls pressing heavily against his ass. Hijikata wants him to move, to do _something,_ but there’s absolutely no way he can organise his brain to figure out what he wants to say, so instead he just squeezes Gintoki inside him, digging his fingers into his flanks as Gintoki gasps out a hot breath against his neck.

“Fucking hell, _Hijikata_ –”

Whatever the case, at least he gets the message; his mouth runs down the side of Hijikata’s throat, the rasp of his tongue slick and warm, and he shoves his hips forward, groaning low in his throat as he does so. The sound goes straight to Hijikata’s dick, although the fact that Gintoki’s now slowly but steadily thrusting inside him is probably also, he thinks hazily, a not insignificant factor. He can feel the low throb of Gintoki’s pulse, radiating through him from the inside out; feel the scrape of his nails against the back of his thigh as Gintoki changes his grip, pushing Hijikata’s knee up towards his own shoulder; feel the desperate sparks along his spine at every push _in_ and drag _out_ ; feel the way his own muscles clench and shift as Gintoki fucks him into the futon. And it’s easier than he wants to admit to lose himself in the sound of Gintoki’s short, sharp breaths and the faint smell of his sweat, the brush of his hair against his cheek as Gintoki lowers his head to run his tongue over the fluttering pulse in his throat.

Hijikata bites down hard on his lower lip as Gintoki’s thrusts get harder, jaw clenching, trying to choke down the noises that’re attempting to escape his throat – if he lets one out, then he won’t be able to stop, and he’s not going to give Gintoki the satisfaction. More to the point, he’s not going to give the bar patrons downstairs a free show.

But it’s getting more and more difficult to keep quiet – Gintoki’s finally found that really fucking good spot that he was fingering earlier and is hitting it, on average, about once every four thrusts. It’s just enough to keep Hijikata off-balance and surprise him every damn time, and he can’t figure out if it’s a deliberate act or if Yorozuya just has terrible aim. Either way, it’s sorely testing his ability to keep his mouth shut – sounds that could probably be described as moans or gasps are escaping through his teeth, and his only consolation is that Gintoki is making some pretty damn entertaining noises of his own, and something that even sounds like a groaned-out _Fuck, Hijika–_ before it’s abruptly cut off as Gintoki buries his mouth against his collarbone.

Hijikata’s back arches, a shudder running up his spine; something about his name on Gintoki’s lips sends a line of fire straight to his groin, and he raises his hand, reaching up to the back of Gintoki’s neck and curling his fingers through his hair, yanking at it until Gintoki finally lifts his head, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. Hijikata isn’t sure he could talk even if he tried just now, but the thought _that’s right, you prick, remember who you’re fucking_ runs through his mind as Gintoki’s hips stutter, his breath hitching. 

Gintoki’s retribution, when it comes, is swift and terrible – his hand comes up, fingers pressing into Hijikata’s jaw as he hooks his thumb over the lower row of his teeth, pressing the pad down on his tongue and forcing his mouth open. Hijikata tries to hold back the rasping cry that leaves his lips, but it’s no good, and now he has to put up with looking at the smirk that slides across Gintoki’s face, too – at least until he shifts his hips and squeezes himself around him, and Gintoki throws his head back and jerks his hips, letting out a strangled moan that’s _definitely_ worth the slight twinge of pain in Hijikata’s ass.

He tightens his legs around Gintoki, arching up every time he thrusts forward, and shuddering as his cock brushes against the ridges of Gintoki’s stomach muscles. He can feel the impending orgasm building in his groin with each quick, hard slide of Gintoki’s cock inside him, every long, raking shudder of his stomach, every twitch of his thighs, every warm breath that passes between them. Gintoki drops his head, his eyes widening as he stares down at Hijikata’s face, as if he’s amazed or something – and _God_ the sheer intensity of the stare is kind of overwhelming in a way that makes Hijikata want to simultaneously lock eyes with Gintoki and turn his head away in embarrassment. Not that he has any choice in the matter, because Yorozuya has a firm grip on his jaw, keeping him in place –

– but he’s not going to lose this one. He’s conceded enough tonight already, and so he grabs Yorozuya’s shoulder and yanks him down, crushing their lips together even as he pulls Gintoki into himself as far as he can possibly go. His arms wrap tight around Gintoki as he forces his tongue up into his mouth, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to be here, to swallow Gintoki’s cry into his own mouth as Gintoki shudders above him and inside him, his cock pulsing as he comes.

There’s a long, perfect moment where Gintoki stills entirely, and then he collapses down on top of Hijikata, hips still twitching, letting out a long groan as his head slides down towards Hijikata’s shoulder. The sense of smug satisfaction that Hijikata feels is short-lived, however, as he has the sudden horrible thought that Yorozuya’s not going to move again, and that he’s going to be stuck here under the four-kilos-heavier-than-him-apparently bastard until he can wriggle free to sort out his own dick – God, he’s so fucking close, _so fucking close_ – but then Gintoki stirs, curving his hips forward again and driving a cry from Hijikata’s lips that leaves his throat feeling raw behind it. He closes his eyes and tries to turn his head away, but Gintoki won’t let him, his hand still on his jaw, even if now his thumb is running slowly over his lower lip instead of hooked into his mouth, and it’s possible, Hijikata thinks, that he got the _remember who you’re fucking_ message just a little _too_ clearly. Gintoki rolls his hips, still hard inside him, and Hijikata’s head falls back, his mouth opening as a jolt of ecstasy shoots through him, but it’s still not fucking enough to get him there – 

“For fuck’s sake, Yorozuya, can you just – _please_ can you just –”

Oh great, and now he’s begging. He made Gintoki come first, and now the asshole’s getting his revenge. How completely and entirely expected for this piece of sh—

He lets out an undignified sound as Gintoki’s hand wraps around his dick, slick with his own pre-come, stroking it to the same rhythm as the quick, shallow push of his hips. Hijikata digs his fingers into Gintoki’s sides, his thighs cinching around his waist, until finally, fucking _finally,_ he feels the tight knot of pressure in his stomach release, sparks shooting up his spine, flooding every nerve with pure ecstasy. He can’t even bring himself to care that he cries out as he comes, a feral sound that forces its way out between his teeth as his come shoots over his stomach, coating Gintoki’s hand. Hijikata can feel the warmth of his panted breaths on his face as they lie together, his thighs still parted around Gintoki’s hips, and Gintoki leaning forward over his torso, sweat dripping from his chest onto Hijikata’s stomach. 

It’s a long moment until he feels Gintoki slowly start to roll away from him, his softening cock slipping out of his body, and even longer until Hijikata’s blood stops roaring in his ears, his breath slowing to something approaching a natural pace. And he can’t quite bring himself to move even when he feels Gintoki’s fingers ruffle through his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp, like he’s patting him or something – like he’s a dog getting a reward for a job well done. As much as he’d like them to, the words _get the fuck off me, idiot,_ just won’t come out of his mouth. All he wants to do is lie here with his eyes closed and feel his blood beat in his veins. Maybe he even goes to sleep for a second. 

_Fuck. That was worth a bit of getting shoved in a cupboard for, wasn’t it?_

It’s an irritating thought and one he doesn’t especially want to acknowledge, enough so that he lies on the futon with his eyes shut for probably longer than he should, and despite the uncomfortably growing awareness that he’s lying in the wet patch. They’re not touching anymore, but he can feel the warmth of Gintoki’s body as he lies next to him, not moving and, for once in his life, not talking. Hijikata darts his tongue over his lips. _Okay. All right. This is fine._

Given how disastrously the first part of this evening went, he’s almost _expecting_ to open his eyes and see China, that four-eyed Shinpachi kid and his sister, the old bags from downstairs, and a gaggle of Yorozuya’s other friends and associates standing in the doorway staring at him – shit, why not throw in Kondou and Sougo too, as well as Yamazaki, Harada, Saitou, Pops Matsudaira – hell, fucking _Sasaki_ while he’s at it – and whoever the hell else wants to come along. But when he does finally manage to get his eyes open, there’s no one else there but Gintoki, lying on his back on the futon next to him, gazing at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. 

Yorozuya glances over when he notices Hijikata looking at him, before quickly looking away again. “All right, Hijikata-kun?”

Hijikata swallows. “All right.”

He rolls over, groping around for his cigarettes, suddenly supremely grateful he thought to save the final one; he lights it and sinks into the futon as the nicotine unfurls through his system, watching the smoke as it drifts up towards the ceiling. 

Gintoki doesn’t answer him – he just slowly rolls himself up into a sitting position, before getting up and sauntering his way across the room. Hijikata watches him go, his eyes moving down his body without him meaning them to, but goddammit, it doesn’t seem fair that he hasn’t got to see Gintoki’s ass in its unclothed state until now and, well, _fuck_.

Gintoki glances over his shoulder and apparently catches him staring, because he throws a small grin in Hijikata’s direction, slaps his own asscheek, and says, “Next time.”

Hijikata’s mouth goes dry while he processes the implications of _that,_ but the only words he can force out of his mouth are, “We are not coming back here again.”

Leaning his hand slightly against the door, Gintoki shrugs. “Love hotels do exist, you know.” 

“And I suppose I’m paying for that,” Hijikata mutters as he takes another drag on his cigarette. “Since you’re always broke.”

“Ask your gorilla boss to organise a whip-round, then,” Gintoki retorts. “Pretty sure the entire Shinsengumi would chip in enough for a whole year of visits if there’s a chance getting laid every now and then would keep you from being such a grumpy bastard.”

Maybe it’s just the post-orgasmic haze messing with his head, but he has no particular desire to snap back at Yorozuya about this; hell, he’s not even descending into a state of chaotic panic about what they just did, or how he’s going to have to, presumably, look Yorozuya in the eye again at some future point, or how he’s going to walk around doing his job in the knowledge that _oh, yeah, me and the Jouishishi formerly known as the Shiroyasha – we’re fucking now,_ or where and _with who_ did Gintoki learn to give blowjobs like that, or the fact that presumably at some point people are going to find out about this, or what the hell he’s going to do if _Sougo,_ specifically, finds out about this, and the fact that he probably should have thought all this through _before_ he stuck his tongue down Gintoki’s throat outside the izakaya –

“Hey.”

He looks over to where Yorozuya is running a hand through his stupid perm, still leaning against the door. He cocks his head slightly, as if in invitation. 

“I’m gonna go run a bath. You coming?” 

Hijikata swallows, lifting his cigarette to his lips and taking one last drag before dropping it inside one of Yorozuya’s empty strawberry milk cartons, listening to it fizzle out when it hits the bottom.

“Yeah. I’m coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading -- we really appreciate it! :D
> 
> PS. Just assume they fuck in the bath too.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The morning after](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265917) by [deargodwhatisthatthing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deargodwhatisthatthing/pseuds/deargodwhatisthatthing)




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